


Soap Suds and Lingering Glances

by CookieDoughMe



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Firefighter!Duke, Fluff, M/M, POV Alternating, cliffhanger ending, not currently finished, trouble-free AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 11:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieDoughMe/pseuds/CookieDoughMe
Summary: Inspired by a "charity car wash" sign I saw outside a fire station.Trouble-free AU in which Duke is a firefighter and Nathan has no idea of the delightful view that awaits him when he pulls into the charity car wash, where Duke is taking his fundraising/car washing duties very seriously aka enjoying the opportunity to strip to the waist and show off on a hot day.The is pretty fluffy (and probably thoroughly predictable), the only warning here is that it's not currently finished and ends on a ... well - not a cliffhanger exactly but let's just say that if I do manage to write more the rating will probably jump to explicit.





	1. Nathan

It's a sunny day and I'd rather chill out in the garden with a book, but I have some errands to run in town so I get my stuff together and head out to the bronco. As I open the door I realise it could do with a wash; I guess that's another job for when I get back. It's a nice day for a drive though and I wind the windows down so I can appreciate the warm air.

I'm halfway into town when I reach a diversion that takes me round to the west side of Haven where I wouldn't normally have much reason to go. As I come up to the fire station I slow down to let someone else pull out, and that's when I see the sign:  _ Charity Car Wash $5 minimum donation _ . The idea of having someone else wash the bronco for me is pretty appealing and some money going to charity too seals the deal. 

I pull into the parking lot there and join the short queue of prospective customers. Up ahead the firefighters seem to be alternating between washing cars, collecting donations from people and having water fights with each other. Fair enough I reckon.

Another clean car pulls out and away, and I move forward a spot. There are two spaces for cars being cleaned and a fluctuating team of firefighters wielding hosepipes and sponges in between taking breaks to visit the refreshments stall they've also got set up nearby. 

The van in front of me is really going to get its money's worth; looks like they've been driving through nothing but mud for weeks and I hope they're ready with a generous donation. As they pull forward into the spot vacated by another happy customer, another firefighter comes back from a break to help tackle the mud.

He takes the opportunity to flick a jet of water at his co-worker first though, in what appears to be a continuation of a long-running game. Like most of the men there, he's wearing what look like the official uniform heavy boots and pants, and wearing nothing at all from the waist up. Unlike with the rest of them, I cannot take my eyes off him.

He's tall and slim, long dark hair, and pale skin dotted with tattoos. And he has the most infectious grin on his face I've ever seen. Whether it's the water fight or the sunny weather or the attentions of pretty much every pair of eyes as his co-worker directs a brief spurt of water at him that rolls down his smooth and muscled back, I'm not sure. But he's clearly having a good time, and I don't think he minds the attention either because he must have noticed people watching him. 

I might be too far away to be seen yet, but the car in the next space has an older woman in the driver's seat making no efforts to hide her attentions as she leans out of the open window. He positions himself where she (and also me, as it happens) has a perfect view as he turns the house on himself to soak his hair and cool himself down in the sun, the water running down his chest as he shakes his head with a grin, letting water fly everywhere. 

He agrees a truce with his co-worker and they get to work on the mud. I try to be slightly more subtle about it than the woman in the next car craning her neck for the best angle, but there's no question I'm going to watch. He works his way round his side of the van, directing at it a stream of water that has enough pressure to send chunks of mud flying every which way. Half of them hit him but he doesn't seem to mind; he's paying attention to what he's doing now.

Once most of the mud is knocked off he turns off the hose and grabs a bucket full of soapy water from another volunteer. And if I had any doubt before that he knew how people were looking at him, it disappears once he starts leaning across the hood of the van, bending himself around the rear doors, stretching his lithe muscles along the side, and pressing himself against it so he ends up with even more soap suds on his skin than he had mud. He runs a soapy hand through his wet hair and good God I swear half the people there sigh in appreciation at once.

His co-worker isn't one of them though, just laughs pointing out the state he's got himself into. So he points the hose at himself again, runs soapy fingers over mud-flecked skin until he looks a little cleaner, flicking strands of wet hair away from his face now and then as he looks down at himself. And yeah it was a hot day, but no one else was showing off to quite this extent. But then, it didn't look like anyone else there had quite the same level of perfect body to show off, so perhaps it was fair enough. If he was doing it to get people to up the amount they donated, it was probably a fairly successful strategy; I was already checking my wallet to make sure I had enough for a reasonable donation.

I'm in no hurry to move forward in the queue with this performance going on, but eventually they finish with the van and it pulls on out the way, so I drive forward and nod a hello. The co-worker indicates with a wave that he's taking a break, so that leaves me with Mr Showoff, which is perfectly fine with me.

He strolls up to my window and grins a hello at me, so maybe my attempts to not be too obvious had not been too successful. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and holds up the hose, currently turned off. "Now, I could spray you as well, but if you don't want to soak the inside of this fine car, now would be a good time to roll up the windows."

"Right," good point. I'm sure I would have thought of that ordinarily. 

He gives me a chance to put some glass between me and the hosepipe and then he sets about covering every inch of the bronco in water and soap suds and I swear he is working just as hard at cleaning it as he is at making sure I can see as much of him as possible while he's doing so. He scratches his shoulder with a soapy hand, leaving a trail of suds to slide slowly down his smooth chest. He bends over to wash the wheels in just the right way to give me a great view of his ass. He catches my eye a couple of times in the wing mirrors, the rear view mirror too. He knows that I'm watching; he knows that I'm enjoying the view.  I should be self conscious about it: I would be usually. But somehow the fact that his showing off is so very blatant gives me permission to stare. 

After what seems like nowhere near long enough, but is probably in actual fact about twice as long as he really needed, he puts the hose down and taps on the window. I wind it back down again. "All done. Donations over there," he points with a smile to a volunteer with a bucket by the way out.

I nod, obscurely disappointed not to be giving money directly to him myself. "Thanks," I manage.

He just grins at me, watching as I drive off, suddenly very grateful for that diversion that brought me down a road I hadn't planned to be on at all.


	2. Duke

The donations from yesterday's charity car wash are all counted up now and it turns out we hit a figure three times more than our already-optimistic target. We weren't keeping tabs of course but the popular opinion seems to be that a good portion of this is due to my so-called ridiculous antics showing off all day. I, of course, am admitting nothing. Privately, I'd be glad if anything I did helped bring in more donations, but if I'm honest with myself I was having a lot of fun too. I guess I have an exhibitionist side, what can I say? 

And if I played it up even more for the pretty ones, well that's just human nature. I take some stick for it in the station though; banter calling me the man of the match for raising the money one minute, and calling me ridiculous for showing off the next. I just tell them they're jealous on both counts, even though I know it isn't true. Joe asks me if I was a stripper in a past life, a question I'm deciding not to answer, when a shiny blue bronco pulls up outside. We had one like that in yesterday; the eyes the guy in it watched me with were almost as blue as that paint. "Hey Crocker!" calls Joe, "One of your biggest fans is back!"

"Yeah, yeah," I call back; more banter. "They all come back for more eventually." And then I turn around and see that it really is him, even more attractive now that I can see more of him. I take in his height, the way he walks, and the glint of a detective's badge at his belt. He looks at me for a moment but he turns towards the Captain and they retreat into his office. He's here on official business then I guess, probably following up on that fight last week. 

Half an hour later and he's on his way out until he sees me and changes direction. He holds out a hand, "Detective Wuornos."

_ Alright _ , I think,  _ I can do civilised _ . "Lieutenant Crocker," I reply, returning his short firm handshake.

"I'm here following up on the incident last week," he tells me.

"Yeah that sounded messed up," I reply. "I was on the other side of town at the time myself. It'll be Jay and Lex you need to speak to."

He nods, two steps ahead of me. "They've been very helpful."

I nod an acknowledgement, thinking that he really did come over here just to say hello. My eyes flick to the shiny blue bronco, catching the sun outside behind him. He half turns as he follows my gaze. "You did a good job on my truck yesterday," he offers.

"Thank you for the donation," I reply.

There's a beat of silence and then he nods his little acknowledgement-nod and turns as if to go, but I can't leave it at that. "The Grey Gull's the cop bar, right?" I ask.

He turns back to me, "Sorry?"

"The Grey Gull, out on the coast road, that's where the cops drink, right?" He looks really confused and it's actually adorable. I happen to know for sure that the Grey Gull is definitely where the cops around here go for a drink after work, but maybe he's not one of them. "Maybe I'll see you in there sometime," I finish.

Understanding clears his frown. "Maybe," he agrees. For a moment I think he's going to leave it at that, then he adds, "Tomorrow night?"

I feel myself grin. "Tomorrow night," I agree. "Barring emergencies," I add, waving back towards the fire truck behind me.

"Barring emergencies," he agrees, hand moving to the badge on his belt and I remember he has that kind of job too. That could be a good thing I think, as he walks away, someone who understands. But I'm not going to get ahead of myself; I don't even know his first name yet. For now I'm just going to enjoy the sight of him and his ass walking back to his shiny-clean truck. And I'm definitely going for a drink in the Grey Gull tomorrow night.


	3. Nathan

It's later than I'd intended by the time I pull up outside the Grey Gull. The Lieutenant is right, this is definitely where the cops in Haven come to drink after work, I just usually tend not to be one of them. I don't spend many evenings out drinking in general and there was a food poisoning scandal here a while ago that kind of put me off this place. But that was years ago back when it was the Second Chance Bistro and I have been meaning to get out more. Or so I tell myself. It's a nice place now anyway, they've added decking outside since it was the Second Chance and it's definitely doing good business.

The place is full and full of cops, and most of them want to make a big deal about how I've come out for once so it takes me about half an hour to get to the bar and by the time I do I've almost forgotten why I'm actually here. But then there he is, across the other side of the bar, chatting away animatedly to a couple of women I don't recognise. Actually, I realise as I order a beer, if the guidebook on the bar in front of them is anything to go by, they're probably tourists.

I take a couple good long swigs of beer. Partly because I need it before I say hello to him, partly to make it look like I haven't just got here and rushed straight over there. Just as I'm telling myself I'm ridiculous for feeling nervous about the idea, the tourists gather their things and part company with him with friendly waves and thank yous. I guess he's been giving them the lowdown on all the best local beauty spots. 

Once they're gone he turns to look for the bartender and finds himself looking straight at me across the other side of the bar. I bring my hand up in a little wave, trying to look like I haven't been watching him - again - and he grins that infectious grin of his and in that moment all those nerves disappear. 

As he orders I make my way round the side of the bar to take the place the tourists left. 

"Hi!" he greets me. "Great choice," he adds looking at my beer bottle and when his arrives I see he's ordered the same. 

I realise I don't even know his first name. "I'm Nathan," I tell him.

"Duke," he replies. "This is a nice bar, nice spot here by the sea."

"Yeah it is," I tell him. "Gotta be honest I haven't been here in ages but it is."

We sip our beers for a moment. "Were you helping out the tourists?"

He laughs. "Were they that obvious? They're actually thinking of moving here. Or somewhere around here. Audrey and, um … Claire. They're taking a road trip up the coast, looking for somewhere to relocate to. They seemed nice so I gave them some pointers for the more picturesque parts of town."

"Very public spirited of you," I say, then worry it might have sounded sarcastic by accident, but he doesn't seem to have taken it that way.

"Audrey's a detective so you might have a new colleague if they do. Claire's a psychologist, but she seems like one of the nice ones."

I'm just digesting the implications of that ( _ How many psychologists does he know? _ ) when he adds, "Besides, you know me, I'm all about doing what I can for the public good, supporting charitable causes, encouraging donations …" his sentence fades into a knowing grin.

I'm stumped for how to reply, but he saves me of the need to. "How about we go outside?" he asks. "It seems like a nice evening."

I try not to show my surprise. "Sure," I agree easily.

I wouldn't have said he was tense exactly, but as we step outside and the chatter of the crowd is replaced by the swell of the sea, he looks up to the sky and breathes in the fresh air and I think I can see him relax. "You like the big open spaces?" I ask, but it's only half a question.

He turns to me, a little surprised perhaps, and we walk along the deck a little way, putting the sea a little nearer and the bar a little further away. It is a nice evening out here; clear skies, a gentle breeze. That also means it's not very warm and I guess that is why we're the only people out here. I'm not complaining though; I don't feel the cold.

"Well who wouldn't?" he says. "The stars overhead, the moonlight bouncing off the waves, the whisper of the sea; it's almost romantic out here." He talks with his gaze on the sea, watching the swell of the waves. "But yeah, it's true. Sometimes I love being surrounded by people, but I guess right now I kind of just wanted you all for myself."

He turns to face me for those last few words and the look on his face just throws me for six. I take a step towards him. "Here I am," I say. I meant it as a jokey statement of the obvious, but it comes out a lot more intense than that. I'm just wondering whether I should find a way to tone it down a little, when he rests his hand on my arm. And then his other hand is fitting itself to my jaw, and his lips brush over mine. He kisses me gently, hesitantly at first, but I kiss back eagerly and the kiss quickly grows deeper and deeper until soon we are pulling at each other, practically panting in each other's ears, heat starting to pool between my legs, and I suddenly remember we are in public. Getting caught in an act of public indecency by a bar full of my own colleagues would be kind of embarrassing.

I pull out of the kiss and for a second he looks disappointed. "Come back to my place?" I suggest. His grin is dazzling enough to light the whole town.


End file.
